


Even Dead Dinosaurs Have Feelings

by uglywombat



Series: Love In A Time Of North Korea [1]
Category: Chris Evans (RPF), Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Banter, Biting, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Language, F/M, Hate Sex, Marking, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24330679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: Your arrangement with Ransom is pure and simple: you hate each other and sleep with each other because hate sex is the purest cure for all the ailments. Pure, unadulterated hot sex without feelings. Or so you thought.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Original Female Character(s), Ransom Drysdale/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/You
Series: Love In A Time Of North Korea [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776646
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	Even Dead Dinosaurs Have Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Caffiend for beta'ing like a demon and picking up lots of broken pieces. 
> 
> Cliff is real and is homed at the Museum of Science in Boston. I really hope you enjoy this x

Cliff stands tall in the centre of the grand exhibit room; regal, proud and steadfast. You give him a cheeky grin before turning to address your small group of assholes. 

The thing about summer interns is that they don’t give a shit. They don’t care about the time and effort that goes into maintaining a nationally recognised museum, or the passion that your team has for your department or the dinosaurs and fossils. They don’t give a shit about the long hours you pour into keeping the museum running, the hours of personal time lost to a never-ending stream of paperwork. 

They only care about the credit points you sign off on at the end of the summer break. 

You’ve been given the opportunity of a lifetime: run the department for the whole summer and you could possibly be looking at a significant pay rise and fast-tracking to becoming the department head. This is more than important; this orientation program is make-or-break in developing key relationships and setting power dynamics with the interns you will be in charge of for the next three long months. 

Your future lies within the hands of five UMass assholes.

They should be showing more gratitude than they have for the last hour; too interested in Instagramming and texting and whatever else kids do these days… They get to spend a possibly blistering hot summer inside an air-conditioned building with the most chill boss ever, and in the greatest exhibition in the museum.

It’s only for three months, it will surely fly by. Right? You could always force a few of them down into the basement with Kyle to work through that huge stack of files you’d been stoically ignoring for the past few months…

You’ve been lucky to call the Museum of Science your home since you had graduated from college and moved to Boston to work as a paleontologist. You love the museum, you love your colleagues, you even love Boston. Except for one giant dick of a problem. 

But, you are not going to let that asshole get the better of you today. Now if you could only ignore the pull of the bruise on your ass every time you take a step courtesy of your little tryst in the back of his BMW the other night...

“And finally we have Cliff.” Your voice is proud as you stand before the grand triceratops. “Cliff is one of only four of his kind on display on the whole planet that is nearly entirely made up of original bones. He’s estimated to be around 65 million years old and was discovered in 2004 in North Dakota. He’s pretty impressive right?”

No response, you roll your eyes at the chorus of grunts, their eyes glued to their phones and look up at Cliff willing the deceased dinosaur to stand on the useless brats. 

“Hey shitheads, listen to your teacher.”

You emit a loud drawn-out groan as you turn around to the entrance of the room to see Hugh Ransom Drysdale leaning against the door frame with a shit-eating grin on his face. A huge swell of anger courses through your veins as you feel a surge of arousal dance through your core. Fucking traitorous body. 

“What the fuck do you want?” You can’t help but smirk as the students around you gasp and whisper at your outburst.

“Can’t I come say hi to my favourite little fuck buddy?”

You scoff, leaning against the glass barrier enclosing the gigantic dinosaur and cross your arms defensively. “No, because unlike you, you spoilt sack of shit, I have a job. My mommy and daddy don’t pay my bills. So kindly take your over spritzed ass out of the museum.”

The smirk on his face clearly has a direct communication tool to your Benedict Arnold as you squirm slightly. Traitorous pussy… 

“Hey kids, here’s a couple of hundred bucks. Grab an early mark and celebrate the weekend. I want to have a chat with your boss. And by chat I mean I’m going to fuck her pretty little brains out in front of Cliff.”

The arrogance, whilst incredibly hot, scrapes at your reserve. And your interns clearly have no loyalty to you, taking the cash and making a quick exit from the room, leaving you alone with the rich asshole. 

You’d had the misfortune of meeting Ransom at a hoity-toity fundraising event for the museum. Having no intention of going yourself, when your head of department had called in sick you’d had no choice but to go, the risk of losing essential funding a reality. 

Drunk on the never-ending flow of free expensive champagne, the egotistical sex God had all but cornered you against the bar, intoxicated on top-line scotch and had somehow managed to convince you to go on a private tour of the museum. The tour had quickly deteriorated into a really good orgasm as he bent you over your desk, destroying a perfectly good African Milk Tree cacti you’d been lovingly taking care of since you’d moved to Boston. 

One glorious fuck turned into many... and many. It is casual, it is fun but Ransom is an asshole. He talks down to people, he is absolutely full of himself and you know this isn’t going anywhere near a church aisle, canapes and happily ever afters. 

“Miss me, Princess?”

The nickname crawls on your skin like static electricity; uncomfortable and yet exciting. “Like herpes. Is there a reason you’re gatecrashing my orientation with my interns? You’ve just set me back three hours you asshole,” you snap. 

His grin is mischievous and cavalier as he stalks towards you. His step is bold and calculated, setting your heartbeat in a race your brain can barely keep pace with. 

“Don’t think about it,” you whisper to your own Benedict Arnold; a wanton pussy desperate to feel the thick warmth of his big co…

He comes to a stop before you, lithe fingers brushing a stray eyelash from your cheek. “Can’t I come to wish my princess good luck on her first day as the big boss?” 

Arrogant mother fuc… “Firstly, I am not your princess, you territorial piece of shit. Secondly, you knew how important this day was to me…” fuck he smells so good. The light crisp scent of citrus and bergamot interlaces with heady wood… No. Concentrate. “Why would you storm in here like your shit doesn’t stink and humiliate me in front of my interns?”

The anger is a rapid boil in the pit of your stomach as he cages you against the glass barrier, your breath becoming short as you struggle to keep the imaginary defensive wall of “you deserve better than Ransom” between you. It’s the only thing stopping you from jumping his fine dick right here and now. 

“Oh please, I did you a favour, you should be thanking me.” Your eyes watch intently as his fingers descend over the buttons of your shirt and you’re quick to bat his filthy entitled hand away. “Those little assholes weren’t listening to a single word that came out of that gorgeous mouth of yours. I can think of a better way to put that mouth to use…”

You try to move away but he just pins you against the cool glass. “I’m not having sex with you in front of Cliff, you sex maniac. Can’t you wait two hours until I at least have time to go home and shave my legs?”

“Princess,” the nickname rolls off of his tongue like hot honey laced with ninja stars as those skilled fingers begin to undo the buttons on your shirt, “I’ve just spent the last three hours at lunch with my delightful parents being reminded of how much of a waste of oxygen I am.” He smirks at the wispy exhalation brushing against his lips as his finger teases your nipple through the thin material of your bralette. “I need to fuck the frustrations out of my system. So, no it can’t wait. Besides, you know I don’t mind when you get in touch with our primate cousins…”

You slap his hands away as they start to venture down your jeans. “I’m not a fucking amusement ride you get to decide you’re going to ride just because mommy and daddy tried to have a Dr Phil moment with you.”

Ransom chuckles, deep and throaty, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling. “I don’t remember hearing you complain when I had my tongue buried in your pussy for over an hour whilst you watched Real Housewives of Shitsville after my last family dinner disaster.” 

“I’m surprised you hear anything other than the sound of your own voice,” you snap, grasping at his wrist, his hands persistent in their descent down to Benedict Arnold, who is all weepy and crying out for attention. 

“Now, I know for a fact that your useless security team are otherwise preoccupied with a box of Dunkin’ Donuts, so how about you be a good little girl and help me give Cliff a show he’ll never forget.”

Ransom is right. The security team are like a pack of labradors for Dunkin’ Donuts, as you know from personal experience when trying to sneak out an old office chair from the New England Habitats department (who always seemed to get the better furniture). The leather chair looks fabulous in the study nook of your cramped Boston apartment.

The likelihood of anyone walking in on you both is slim to none. Your interns are long gone, probably already at the bar making the most of the green candy Ransom had thrown at them, the happy hour and $2 buffalo wings. 

The cleaning crew aren’t scheduled to start clearing this floor for another couple of hours. Kyle has probably been crushed by the mountain of files in the basement. Carla has been asleep at her desk since noon, but then she had eaten three burritos with the lot for lunch. 

“Fine. But make it quick and don’t insult Cliff.”

You’re quick to unbutton your jeans, barely missing Roberta the Coelophysis as you throw them over Ransom’s broad shoulders. Your apology to the model therapod is intercepted as pouty lips catch yours in a heated, demanding kiss.

He tears your panties (thankfully an old pair that had been hiding in the back of your drawer because washing was not a priority at the moment… until now) and pockets them before tearing down his very expensive jeans and kicking them out of the way. 

You ignore the clattering of the “no food allowed” sign, a casualty to a pair of dark blue jeans stuffed with your lace panties. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I can practically smell you from here. You’ve been thinking about me all day?”

You scoff, though the prick is correct. “Yeah, thinking about fifty ways to do the world a favour and kill you off...” you stutter as his fingers trail over your sodden pussy lips. 

“You’d miss me too much to murder me Princess. Besides, nobody makes you come like I do.”

Your chuckle echoes through the room as you cup his hardening cock through his aging Armani underwear. “Whatever helps inflate your gigantic ego.” You gasp as he slowly greets Benedict Arnold with two really fucking talented fingers, your walls hugging tightly around him. Fuck he’s good.

“Stop lying to yourself, Princess, you can’t keep denying that I am the only man who has made you see more stars than the Chinese Theatre.”

God damn if he isn’t right. Ransom is the only man who has your Benedict Arnold wrapped around his little finger. The only man who has been able to play your strings like Yo-Yo Ma and have you singing a Bourrée. He’s the only man who’s been willing to sit between your legs for an hour eating you out whilst you… 

No. No. Feelings are North Korea and North Korea is a no-fly zone. 

“For someone who needs a fuck cleanse you talk a lot. Just shut up and do something useful with your mouth for once in your life.”

A quirk of his eyebrow and he is kneeling before you, his tongue delving between your folds as you throw your leg over his shoulder and grip onto his hair with little consideration for his health and wellbeing. Ransom doesn’t seem bothered by the pulling of his precious follicles, his concentration firmly awarded to Benedict Arnold and your revered nub of gold. 

Ransom chuckles, digging his finger into the tender flesh of your ass, as a frenzied flurry of profanities tumbles from your lips. He’s like a starved man, his wolfish tongue intent on your clit and the soul-destroying orgasms only he can give. Ransom giving orgasms is possibly the only unselfish thing he has done in his life and quite frankly, you’re not below becoming a charity case for a good orgasm or three on occasion. 

He’s good, clearly well practised and knows his way around a woman’s body, your body…

No. North Korean feelings begone.

But goddamn, he knows the small crevices and clandestine buttons to press and torment. 

Your knees quake and you press your back against the glass for security as you come. And come hard. Ransom’s tongue continues to dance along your drenched clit, unceasing and unforgiving as he takes you by the weakening preserves of your sanity and hauls you into the abyss. 

Your head swims and locomotes like an ornithomimosaur, the fastest dinosaur known to man. You’re pretty sure that those therapods didn’t have this great of a time. 

So consumed with the churning motion in your head, the delicate tickle of arousal on your inner thigh and your heaving desperation to breathe, you barely register Ransom standing tall until his lips are on yours, claiming you wholly. 

“God, I haven’t been able to get the taste of you out of my head. You’re haunting my thoughts, princess.” His voice is thick like honey, but the sweetness is impure with salacious intent. “Do you know how fucking distracting you are?”

Thick hands grasp your ass and squeeze, the bruises from the other night stinging. 

“You’re so full of shit.” Your voice is void of the anger and frustration you want to convey, your equilibrium shoved off its course as pouty lips descend your neck. “I need you to just shut the fuck up and get on with the job or I will…”

You're silenced by thick fingers over your lips. 

“You’ve missed me, princess,” he coos, his other fingers exploring Benedict Arnold, your walls immediately clenching against his thick digits, “you’re not usually this demanding. Have you been thinking about me since I fucked you into glory in the back of my car the other night?”

You chuckle and playfully bite his pale neck. “You’ve only crossed my mind when I’ve been in boxing class. I like to imagine your stupid face on the bag, makes the class fly by, really helps get my endorphins going, releases the tension.”

Ransom cackles like an evil mastermind as he draws his hard cock through your folds. “You’re such a fucking liar. Once I’ve filled you with my load, you’re going to go back to your office and play with yourself while you think of me. I’m the drug you’re addicted to, I’m the first thing you think of in the morning, I’m the afternoon craving that keeps you distracted and longing. I’m the last thing you ponder at night when you’re lying between the sheets, your pretty little fingers trailing over your tight little pussy that you know belongs to me.” Cerulean eyes lock onto yours, all twinkling and mischievous. “Give in, princess, give in to the filthy desires that keep you up at night.”

The prick is right. Completely and utterly right. 

You drag him into a carnal kiss, devouring the smoky bourbon lingering on his tongue. 

He coaxes you to the ground, a pterodactyl-like screech resonating throughout the room as you both slide down to the ground, your back dragging along the glass enclosure of Cliff. Poor innocent Cliff. 

With expert ease, Ransom pulls you onto his lap, seating himself deep within your sodden pussy, your cry lewd and loud. The stretch and pull of your walls around his thick cock are perfect, it always is, and you can’t deny there’s a calming wash over you. That is until he starts moving, purposefully angling his hips as he kneels on the ground so that he presses against your g-spot. Yes, Ransom is that experienced. 

Your back hits the glass every time Ransom propels against you, his cock dragging along your walls with the precision of the greatest hunter, the T-rex. 

The position, Ransom knelt on the hard ground, your legs haphazardly wrapped around his waist as you cling to each other, is intimate. You try your hardest not to stare in his eyes, to lose yourself in the abyss of those darkening azure eyes, but it’s impossible. 

It’s wild, fucking on the floor with a fossilised triceratops watching over you, your back jarring against the cool glass of his enclosure. The pain is easily forgotten though as you sink your teeth into the juncture of his neck. 

“You fucking vampire,” Ransom snarls and delivers a deafening crack to your ass with his thick hand. “The only person allowed to leave marks is me, princess, you are mine.” And with that, his teeth latch onto the swell of your breast and you instantly clench around his thick cock in response. “You look so beautiful covered in my markings. The whole world knowing you belong to Ransom,” thrust, “fucking,” the tunnel narrows, “Drysdale.”

You clench tight and come hard in a blaze of glory. Your vision whitens as Ransom throws you to the ground and fucks deeper, harder. Keeping your legs locked around his tight, taut, hot ass, your fingers lock onto his hair as he quickens the already furious pace of his hips. 

“I’m going to fill you up so good princess and you’re going to walk home to your little shitty apartment thinking about me, smelling of me. You’re going to feel me all night long, wishing I was there to fuck you some more.”

“Ha, you wish,” you bite back. “I’m going to go home, wash myself thoroughly and then watch Ru Paul with a bottle of tequila.” You gasp as one firm hand grips your chin and the other delves between your thighs and settle on your sensitive clit. 

“God, you’re so full of shit. Is there a goddamn honest word that comes out of your mouth?” His kiss is forceful but endearing, as his fingers reinvigorate the sensitive bundle of nerves. “One day, you’ll just say ‘thank you, Ransom,’ or maybe I’ll have you call me daddy.”

You’d scoff but you’re hurtling down a steep cliff, your third orgasm just as intense as the first and second. It’s all-consuming and literally sucks the soul from your guts. 

Ransom is not far behind you, coming hard with that delicious grunt and song of curse words, his hand tightening on the line of your jaw. He sags on top of you as he spills deep inside you and for a moment you relish in the warmth of his body on top of yours. 

Slowly, he moves off of you, collapsing onto the marble floor beside you. Laying in silence you stare up at Cliff, the inanimate triceratops and you can feel the judgemental glares radiating down at you both.

“Enjoy the show, Cliff?”

You look over at Ransom who is glaring up at the dinosaur. “You’re ridiculous,” you scoff, pulling yourself up to dress. Shame and guilt bites at you as you pull on your pants, ignoring your panties in Ransom’s pants. “You can’t just come here and expect me to open my legs for you anytime you have a bad day on the golf green.”

“You just did.”

You glare at him. “It’s unprofessional and I’m an idiot for letting you manipulate me into this again.”

Ransom chuckles, the arrogance dripping off of him. You watch him retrieve his pants and redress. “You say that now, sweetheart, but you’ll come calling me, begging me to fuck you to the stars again. And again.”

You stare at him. You know you deserve better, but North Korea and Benedict Arnold are… well, they’re strong and they’re confusing. But Ransom is an asshole, he doesn’t have North Korea, not like you…

“Goodbye, asshole.”

He doesn’t call out after you, doesn’t run out after you, no declarations of love in a glorious moving scene as you exit the exhibit room and make your way to the staff elevator, your stomp echoing through the deserted hallway.

Fuck Ransom. Fuck Ransom and his stupid perfect sex moves, and his stupid crisp blue eyes and the woody, homely scent of his aftershave. Fuck Ransom and the strings he has around your heart. 

The office is deserted by the time you make it to your desk, slumping down into the leather chair, the post-amazing-sex dark cloud heavy and burdening already. A large sigh escapes your lips as you lay your head down onto the desk, the scent of that prick still lingering on you. 

He was right. You would hear him, smell him, feel him still. You always did. Because your pussy and your heart were Benedict fucking Arnold.

The phone rings and you blindly reach around the desk, narrowly avoiding the stone-cold cup of coffee and a pot of pens as you search for your mobile, your heavy head hiding in the sham safety of your arms. You groan as you knock over what you assume is Peter the bunny ears cactus you had only bought last month, the crack of the pot caroming around the small office. 

“Fuck me,” you moan lifting your pathetic head from your arms and you immediately still. Sat beside your phone, lit up and ringing loudly, is a small orange Brachiosaurus toy and a coarsely written note on your favourite letter set. 

**Best wishes for the big day, Princess. R x**

“Fucking North Korea.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are always welcome! I'm on tumblr @imanuglywombat


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